King and Queen of Death
Fee-fi-fo flame,
a whisper curling through the night,
I taste the fear in a sailor’s name,
salt and steel beneath pale light.
The sea breathes heavy on my lips,
crashing tides that never sleep,
sunburn scars on weathered skin,
secrets only oceans keep.
I chase the gold where lost souls lie,
where bones remember how they fell,
every mark a story carved
in the silent ribs of hell.
Hands stained red from ropes pulled tight,
from battles drowned beneath the waves,
row or drown — there is no choice,
only depths that turn to graves.
From bleeding dawn to dying dusk,
no mercy left, no trust remains,
a storm lives beating in my chest,
thunder echoing through my veins.
We become the things we’ve done,
we wear our sins like second skin,
no rest for hearts already claimed
by darkness growing deep within.
War drums pulse beneath the tide,
skulls and blades and shattered prayer,
rum runs thick like liquid fire,
and death itself hangs in the air.
Pray you never cross my path,
pray the winds don’t speak my name,
for face to face with what I am
means nothing leaves you quite the same.
From sunrise burn to sinking sun,
the hunt begins, it never ends,
we do not run, we do not break —
we are the storm the ocean sends.
Pull them under, slow and sure,
drag them where the cold things sleep,
whisper soft into the dark
as the sea begins to keep.
Say my name when breath runs thin,
when the frost begins to creep,
I am the hand that pulls you down,
I am the silence of the deep.
Shadows shift beneath the fog,
something ancient stirs below,
kraken breath and hollow calls
in currents no one dares to know.
Gold means nothing to a crown
forged in something far more cruel,
mine is sharp with jagged edges —
power bends the final rule.
“Aye, my Captain,” voices break,
echoed through the hollowed hull,
disobey and sink below
where the ocean drinks its full.
Hear the chains begin to drag,
hear your fate in every sound,
when I lift my hand to the sky,
even storms will bow down.
Queen of cursed and damned alike,
ruler of what fear creates,
I do not knock upon your door —
I am already at your gates.
What becomes a broken soul
when the tide won’t let it go?
It sinks beneath forgotten light
to where the darkest waters flow.
No salvation waits below,
no mercy breathes within my reach,
only echoes left behind
in depths no living voice can teach.
Still they rise, the drowned, the lost,
ghosts that answer to my call,
they whisper through the salted wind —
I am the one who owns them all.
The sea runs red where I have walked,
every word I speak is law,
once you’re marked, you’re pulled beneath
by something deeper than a flaw.
From first blood spilled to final breath,
I do not chase — I simply claim,
what is left when hope is gone
and death forgets your name.
There is no escape below,
no outrunning what you keep,
for every soul must answer me…
…and I am the keeper of the deep.
K
King and Queen of Death
